Tool or Partner
by Elie.N.P
Summary: She knew her job. She knew her nature. She knew who she was. But in the others'eyes...


I fell in love with the atmosphere of that manga, really, it's amazing. I mean, each cyborg has her own personality, her own dilemmas, well if you probably already know that ^^

I hope I'm not too OOC. This is about Triela and Hillshire, but mostly about the first. There is nothing really romantic, just a strong bond between two persons.

Enjoy your reading =)

**WARNING SPOILERS**

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><p><span>Tool or Partner<span>

Triela was already jumping from roof to roof for five minutes and she had yet to catch the man. He was really fast, almost too, for a human. As a cyborg, Triela's capacities should be superior to his. She pushed harder on her legs, not caring if they broke under the effort, she needed new ones anyway. The important now was to catch the man.

She reloaded her gun without letting her speed decrease. She drew her gun on her target, but he disappeared before she could fire.

"Damn," she cussed.

He had jumped between two buildings, choosing to continue their race through the dark streets. It was a good idea, it would be harder to follow him, and his pursuer was more likely to lose his tracks. Unfortunately for him, Triela didn't jump. Remaining in a high spot was an advantage. Any shadows, any movements, she could detect them all. She wouldn't miss anything. Hillshire trusted her. She wouldn't fail him.

She finally found the man, still running near the canal. A smirk stretched her lips. A beginner wouldn't have looked this way, only concentrating on the darkest places where it was easier to hide.

Triela was no beginner. Some targets had already tried to trick her thus – making her think they were running through the streets while, in fact, they were escaping by a clear spot – it hadn't worked the first times, it still wouldn't.

She dashed forward and landed by the man's side. Albeit he was startled, he speeded up, not enough though to avoid the deadly bullet. Triela stopped running the second the body touched the floor, thus ending the race.

"I won," she murmured. Her tone was neither delighted nor sad, it was emotionless in fact, like her.

She didn't feel guilty, it was her job. They gave her a target, she killed it. That man was the target, she had gunned him down. Period.

"Triela! Are you all right?"

Hearing Hillshire's worried voice made her grimace. Why did he have to seem so affected?

"Everything's fine. What do we make of him?"

She pointed at the man spread on the dusty ground. Hillshire came closer to examine her work. Neat, as always.

"Reinforcements are coming," he said, "they would take care of that."

Triela nodded. The corpse would certainly be burnt, or drowned, either way it would disappear. If the man was no more, his existence wasn't over. His companions, maybe his family if he had one, would seek revenge. He would keep living in their minds.

'Lucky man,' Triela thought. Angelica's death was still bothering her. Even if she didn't feel sorrow, she couldn't stop thinking about her fellow cyborg. The agency would soon entrust Marco with another cyborg, one of the second generation, and he would forget his previous partner. Triela winced, the partner didn't seem right. Wasn't Angelica rather a weapon? Weren't they all weapons rather than partners for their handlers? Marco ordered, Angelica obeyed. A handler ordered, the cyborgs obeyed. They were weapons. Partners would discuss over a strategy, even if one was lower ranked than the other. Partners wouldn't forget each other so easily. Partners wouldn't be replaced so quickly. Cyborgs were weapons, definitively.

Once she would be dead, another cyborg, a better one, would take her place by Hillshire's side, and he would forget her. Henrietta, Rico and Claes – if she were to die before them – wouldn't be sad, maybe they would miss her a little, but the conditioning would erase that feeling. Her ashes would be put in the chapel, like Angelica's, where nobody would ever come. 'Farewell Triela. Farewell' a voice sang in her head.

"Triela? Are you listening?"

She turned her eyes away from the corpse. "Sorry. I'm a little tired.

Hillshire gently smiled. She held back a grimace.

"Let's go then. You can sleep in the car. We have two hours before reaching the dormitory."

In spite of his permission, Triela didn't sleep, a painful headache was keeping her awake. She usually didn't mind the silence when they were alone, but she was willing to do her best not to let her thoughts drift to Angelica. It depressed her too much.

"Was that man very dangerous? Or was he just a subordinate?" she decided that talking was better than being depressed.

"He knew too much information about us. We don't know yet how he could be aware of such things."

"You're saying there is a spy among us?" Hillshire nodded. "How could it be possible? We're permanently observed, controlled. It's impossible to pass through the agency's surveillance, isn't it?"

"It may be true for you, I mean-"

"You mean for the cyborgs," she cut him off. Hillshire seemed to blush a little, but it was too dark in the car for her to be sure.

"The agents are more free. Besides, there are the scientists, the doctors, the nurses, the visitors, in fact our surveillance should be strengthened."

Triela smirked. 'Except for us,' she bitterly thought. Despite the conditioning – which was supposed to make them all devoted to the agency – the cyborgs were the more watched. She took back her words from earlier. 'They don't trust us at all.' High technology didn't mean no malfunctioning.

"Do we have any evidence?" she asked, willing to avoid the path her mind was taking.

"I don't know. I haven't had the time to properly discuss with Jean yet."

A plausible answer, it was a pity it was a lie. Triela sighed, the lack of trust was frustrating her.

Hillshire glanced sideways at her. The sigh could be one of exhaustion, but something prevented him from thinking thus.

"Something's wrong?" Triela slowly shook her head. She seemed to be miles away. "Are you sure? Why don't you rest a little?"

"A headache," she murmured. He frowned.

"I think I have some medicines inside my coat. It's on the seats, behind, take a look."

"No thanks," she coldly answered. She would rather endure the pain than taking more chemical products.

Hillshire touched her forehead. "You don't seem to be well. I'll bring you to Bianchi."

Triela moved his hand away. "Hold the wheel with both hands," she spat. "I don't want to stupidly die in a car accident."

He complied, surprised by the animosity in his companion's voice.

They drove in silence for several minutes before Hillshire dared ask a delicate question. Knowing Triela, and seeing the mood she was currently in, she would certainly snap at him, but it was worth a try.

"What do you feel about Angelica's disappearance?"

Triela tensed. "She is dead."

"Isn't it what I said?" he asked.

"No. When you disappear there is still a chance for you to be found. When you die, well, you can't come back, can you?" She looked at him, an odd spark in her eyes.

"Let me rephrase. What do you feel about Angelica's death?" Her look was making him uneasy.

"What do you want me to feel?"

He glanced at her. She was looking by the window, her face hidden from him by the obscurity.

"Triela," he began in a gentle tone, "you have the right to be sad."

"I'm not," she immediately replied.

"It's not wrong Triela. It's not a shame either. Angelica was your friend and you-"

"I'm not sad," she repeated, louder. Her fists were now clenched.

"Triela-"

She suddenly unfastened her safety belt and opened her door.

"What the hell are you doing? Get back inside that fucking car!" Hillshire shouted, panic-stricken. "Damn it Triela!"

She remained in that crazy position – half inside the car, half above the road – for several seconds which seemed like an eternity for Hillshire, before collapsing back into her seat, slamming the door shut at the same time. Hillshire immediately locked it. Then he rested his hand on Triela's, tightly squeezing it.

"What were you thinking?" he yelled.

"Trying to meet the Grim Reaper?" she mockingly said.

In spite of their position, he slapped her, hard. She didn't react.

"I'll bring you to Bianchi as soon as we arrive."

Triela didn't retort. She didn't know why she had acted that way. Meeting the Grim Reaper? What a ridiculous idea for someone who didn't want to die. She curled up into a ball. She was on edge. As emotionless as the conditioning made her be, she loved her life. She loved when adrenaline ran through her veins, when gunshots rang out into her ears, the satisfaction she felt once her job was done. Damn! She had even come to love being a cyborg. Neither totally a human nor totally a machine, a mix of both, a cyborg. It was what she was, she had accepted it, but it didn't define who she was. That was the matter she wanted others to understand. Angelica, Henrietta, Rico, Claes, the ones of the second generation, they were cyborgs, like Marco, Jose, Jean and the other handlers were humans. It worked the same way for both of their natures. Marco was different from Jean. Henrietta was different from Claes. They were individuals with their own personalities, their own feelings, their own lives. The conditioning didn't make them identical.

"Triela?" She jumped. They had arrived.

Hillshire gently brushed the cheek he had previously slapped. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. They were individuals. Hillshire wasn't Jean. Hillshire wouldn't forget her. He didn't see her as a tool, you didn't apologise to a tool, but as a partner.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, cupping her face between his hands.

She freed her tears. He wasn't apologising for the slap anymore. He was feeling guilty for everything she had to endure. He was feeling guilty because he cared for her. She threw herself into his arms. He tightly embraced her.

"I won't let go of you," he murmured. "I promise. I won't."

The End


End file.
